The same post-bag in which Tom Hazlehurst dispatched his letter to his
schoolfellow, conveyed also two other epistles written by inmates of
the Grange. For the reader’s benefit we will take the same liberty with
them, which we have already taken with the Etonian’s literary effusion.
The first was from Kate Marsden to Miss Arabella Crofton, a lady some
three or four years older than herself, who had been one of the teachers
at the school at which Kate had been brought up, and was now governess
in a German family. Miss Crofton was a woman of unusual mental ability,
and having in a great degree moulded Kate’s character, was now her sole
_confidante_ and mentor. It ran thus:--
“Dear Arabella,--Since I finally determined on following your advice,
fate seems to have played my game for me, and I now consider it as
secure as anything which has not actually come to pass can be. I
told you, when I wrote to you at Baden-Baden, that _his_ friend, Mr.
Coverdale, and my cousin Alice, were evidently becoming attached; you
will therefore be the less surprised to hear that they were married
yesterday; the matter came about thus:--Soon after I wrote to you,
Mr. Crane, by my advice, offered; Alice of course refused him, but so
equivocally (she is quite a child in such things) that the poor, dear,
dull creature scarcely caught her meaning. I immediately took him in
hand, and, availing myself of the situation, flattered his vanity to
such a degree, that ere the evening finished he believed not only that
Alice would accept him, but that I, Kate Marsden, was hopelessly in love
with him. Accordingly, when he learned unmistakably next morning that
Alice meant to refuse him, _my_ good taste stood out in very favourable
contrast. In the meantime, Mr. Crane’s offer brought Mr. Coverdale
to the point, and Alice gladly accepted him, in doing which she acted
wisely, for he is a good, amiable, sterling man! and when the romance
has worn off, and they have got over the bore of awakening from ‘Love’s
young dream,’ I believe they will settle down into a very happy couple.
My uncle at first refused his consent, for Coverdale has only five,
instead of twenty thousands a-year; and Mr. Crane sulked in a corner;
but that strange Mr. D’Almayne, about whom I told you before, and who
possesses a degree of influence over Mr. Crane of which I by no means
approve, went to him, and persuaded him not only to give up Alice
good-humouredly, but actually to play a generous part, and talk my uncle
over to give his consent to my cousin’s union with Mr. Coverdale. Thus,
you see, as I began by saying, my game was played for me, and I had only
to sit still and avail myself of the moves as the others made them.
“I am much puzzled by this Mr. D’Almayne. He is, unless I am much
deceived, a complete adventurer, scheming for his own advantage (_I_
ought to be able to recognise such a character); but what his object can
have been in this affair I cannot possibly conjecture. Pure philanthropy
had nothing to do with it, of that I am certain. Again, how he contrived
to influence Mr. Crane to behave so amiably I cannot conceive. Sometimes
I fancy he has divined my intention of marrying the _millionaire_; but,
if so, why should he aid me in my project?--for I know by his manner
(although he is very cautious) that he admires me himself. Certain it
is, that since the conversation I have alluded to, Mr. Crane has been at
my feet, and is only waiting to offer till he imagines time enough shall
have elapsed to prevent the transfer of his affections (?) from Alice
to me appearing too ridiculous. However, the affair will unravel itself
some day. And now that my plans are likely to be crowned with success,
you will ask me how I feel on the subject. Determined as ever! that
which I have begun I will carry through; but, Arabella, I am most
miserable. For myself alone I should not care; to rescue my family from
poverty, I should be happy to sacrifice my personal hopes and wishes;
but to see Arthur suffer is indeed bitterness, and that he does suffer
frightfully, I, who can read his every look and gesture, cannot for
a moment doubt. Oh, that I had known the depth and reality of his
affection sooner, or that the necessity were less cogent! Then he bears
it with such manly endurance his manner to his family is exactly the
same as usual; not one of them suspects that anything has occurred to
pain him. Again, it is such an aggravation of my sorrow that he blames
me so deeply! Sometimes, when I am talking to Mr. Crane, I catch his
stern, penetrating glance fixed upon me with a calm earnestness of
rebuke, which affects me more deeply than could the most vehement
reproaches; and when I have acted my part for the day, and, in the
solitude of my chamber, I recall all that has passed between us, and
reflect that it is I who have brought this sorrow upon him--I who even
now feel that I love him better than my own soul--I who would gladly
have died for him, I sit, night by night, like a cold statue of despair,
or lie sleepless, shedding such tears as I trust God’s mercy permits not
to flow quite in vain! Yet it is my duty--you _know_, you cannot doubt
for a moment, it is my duty--you could never have _dared_ to counsel
such a sacrifice of the only thing which can make the burden of life
endurable, a real, deep, true affection, if you had not felt certain it
was my duty.
“You have set me a cruel task, Arabella, but I do not flinch from it;
you shall find your pupil worthy the trouble you have bestowed upon her.
I shall write again when anything conclusive is settled. If all goes
well, I shall be in a position to fulfil my old promise, and offer you
a home on your return to England. Would to God it were likely to be a
happier, though a humbler one! But that is past now. Farewell.
“Yours, in many senses of the word,
“Kate Marsden.”
The third epistle was from Horace D’Almayne to a friend and ally in
Paris. “We transcribe it _verbatim_:--
“Alphonse, mon cher,--I enclose you a draft for 3000 francs, wherewith
I beg you to satisfy Carreau, the tailor, _et tous les autres brigands_,
who render Paris an unsafe residence for me. You will naturally ask how
I have obtained the money; not at the gaming-table, nor on the highway,
like Claude Duval. Railroads and police have freed England from
highwaymen. No; I have for the present filled my purse by studying the
great game of life; in which, like all other games, you must either
pillage, or be pillaged. You and I, men of wit and of action, naturally
belong to the former class, and have meritoriously laboured to fulfil
our destiny. Since I have been in England this time I have sedulously
cultivated the _millionaire_ I introduced to you last season, whose
pocket you so obligingly relieved of £500 at piquet. I made a bad
bargain there in only claiming one-third of the spoil; I should have
demanded half, for without my assistance you could have done nothing
with him; but I understand them, these cautious islanders, some of
their blood runs in my veins--my mother, as you know, having been an
Englishwoman. However, the time spent on my _millionaire_ has turned
out a more profitable investment than I at all calculated upon. He is
a weak, vacillating character, one of those feeble-minded mortals who
always require some intelligence stronger than their own to lean upon.
This support he has found in your humble servant; and so convinced
has he become of my diplomatic powers, that just at present he can do
nothing without my approval and sanction. His great object in life is
to marry, and it is to assist him in obtaining a wife that my counsel
is required. When I first arrived here, I found he was dangling after
a charming little country girl, the daughter of a landed proprietor in
these parts. I soon discovered that the said proprietor, for mercenary
reasons, desired the match; but with the young lady I could do nothing.
I gave her the full benefit of my eyes, which, as you know, are not
wont to look in vain; but it was no use--even ‘_les petites moustaches
noires_,’ usually so irresistible, were thrown away upon her; nor had
friend Crane’s £20,000 per annum (_mon Dieu, Alphonse, quelle somme
merveilleuse!_) any more effect upon her. But I soon found a clue to
her obduracy--the silly child was enamoured of her brother’s friend, a
fox-hunting squire, a true specimen of young John Bull. I saw how the
game would go, John Bull returned her affection; he is a real type of
his class. Rich, obstinate, and impetuous, he was resolved to marry the
pretty rustic; she was equally determined; her brother befriended him;
the thing was to be, so I arranged my hand accordingly. There is in
the family a _belle cousine_--such a splendid creature, _Alphonse!_
beautiful as an angel, the _contour_ of a Juno, the port of an empress.
She has tact and talent; a soul of fire beneath an exterior of ice; she
is poor and ambitious. I could not have hoped to find one better suited
to my purpose. She shall marry Crane; his purse will be in her hands; he
will become her slave; and, _Alphonse_, she shall be mine! Do you doubt
my success, _mon ami?_ Bah! the game is as simple as child’s play. She
is young, ardent; she will marry an old man to satisfy her ambition--she
will despise him. Her heart will pine for an object on which to
lavish its tenderness; I shall present myself, become her friend, her
counsellor--and the result? Oh, you cannot doubt it. So I have pulled
the strings, and my _marionnettes_ have danced, and are dancing. My
_millionaire_ offered--the little rustic refused him. While he was
smarting from this insult, I suggested to him that _la belle cousine_
pined for love of him; praised her wit and beauty; and advised him to
revenge himself by transferring his attentions to her. The bait took; I
worked out all the minor incidents admirably; the young fox-hunter has
married the pretty rustic, and taken her out of my way yesterday. The
lovely Kate, playing her own game, labours indefatigably for my interest
also. My friend Crane is delighted, and shows his gratitude by _urging_
me to borrow money of him--(I have mortgaged my farm in Brittany to
him for six times its value; when the three prior claims upon it are
satisfied, and he brings forward his, this fact will surprise him, and
teach him prudence for the future)--I avail myself of his liberality
with caution, for I must not cut up my golden goose too quickly. But
it is well to have more than one resource to rely upon; so if your rich
young German countess should resolve on visiting England, send me timely
notice. I feel that my star is in the ascendant. _Cher Alphonse_, wish
your friend the success which should reward talent, in the use of which
you have so well instructed your devoted,
“Horace.”